


Songs Lie

by verati



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Post Battle of The Bastards, Thirst for revenge, Winter is coming for enemies of house Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verati/pseuds/verati
Summary: She is thankful for the furs that envelop her. They do well to hide the shaking that courses through her weary bones.Here, stands Jon Snow.“Jon.”It is hard to call him as such. Jon. It feels too familiar. Forbidden. Undeserved.





	Songs Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t sleep. This came out.

The snow is breathtaking. And its gentleness as it falls across her cheeks is enough to make her want to weep. It feels like a mother’s warm embrace, a father’s gentle smile. Both now only able to be relived in her mind’s eye.

The snow cleanses her. It washes away her sins. It purifies her from the past’s ill begotten fantasies of the south. It reminds her that she is and will forever be a Stark. That her blood stains, colours, and runs through Winterfell. That she is Winterfell. 

She breathes in Winter and lets it finally settle into her bones. As a child she had shunned its rawness, deeming it to be beneath the coy heat of the south. But the lesson had been beaten into her. She has paid the iron price for the knowledge; the North is home. The south could never rival the North for her affections. The south would always lose. 

In her small moment in time, within Winterfell’s walls, the gravity of what they have achieved today finally falls upon her frame. She is thankful for the furs that envelop her. They do well to hide the shaking that courses through her. 

Once her torment, now her greatest pride. Here, stands Winterfell. And as she sees Jon Snow, blood and grime covering their father’s face, she thinks the same of him. Once her family’s shame, now her greatest joy. Here, stands Jon Snow. 

“Sansa.” His face is battle worn, his hands exposed. Ramsay’s blood indiscernible from the blood of others.

“Jon.”

It is hard to call him as such. Jon. It feels too familiar. Forbidden. Undeserved. 

_Who am I to deserve his unwavering loyalty? I do not deserve it. I, who shunned him and made him feel like a stranger—unwanted in his own home._

But after all Sansa has suffered she feels selfish. She craves Jon Snow’s presence. He is the last tie she has to innocence. To a life before the south. A life before it all went so irreversibly wrong. So she will do whatever she can, and whatever she can’t, to prove herself worthy of Jon Snow. Sansa would protect the bastard who stands before her. Because he is as much a Stark as she. He is her pack. And Sansa is selfish. So very selfish. She wants to learn this man, _Jon_ , beyond the memories of a past life. She wants to make him real.

She remembers seeing his face for the first time after so many years apart. Oh, how it felt like a dagger to her heart. The pain of hope and longing sweeter than any of Ramsay’s tortures. The boy she had once thought little of became the man she would choose above any other to have at her side. The problems of the past were pushed to the side but not forgotten, Sansa knew. All for the happiness of finally having someone who understood. Understood it all. Understood the tragedy of the Starks.

_I am a dove no longer. I have regained my home, my family. I paid the iron price. But, oh, the price of Winter. That is what our enemies will pay. Just as Ramsay did today. And I will be as cold as ice, as brutal as a Winter storm when I come to collect our dues._

“It’s strange, I never thought I would be back. Here.” He now stands next to her, watching as the Bolton banners fall to the mud and snow. Sansa’s hands itch to make a thousand Stark banners. Enough to cover the entirety of Winterfell.

“I’m glad you are here with me. I myself didn’t think I would be back here. Alive.” Sansa doesn’t say it for pity. She says it because it is true. She would deny Ramsay her life. Even if that meant denying it to herself. 

She feels Jon Snow’s hand search for her own. She gives it willingly, exposing it to the cold air outside her furs. 

 _Oh, Mother. You were wrong. So wrong, in treating him as you did. He’s fought for me, Mother. He bled for Winterfell._ We _were wrong._

His hand relaxes against hers while the hold remains unbroken. No inch of skin untouched by his. “We did it. You did it, Sansa. If it weren’t for you this would never have happened. You survived. You are alive. And I intend to keep you that way. Whatever that costs.”

Tomorrow they will fight. Tomorrow she will deal with Littlefinger. Tomorrow he will demand answers to decisions she made today. But for now they are at peace.

They stand side by side. Looking upon Winterfell. One hand bloody and scarred, the other pale as virgin snow. A bastard and the true born daughter. The crow and the dove. The wolves of Winterfell. Like the beginnings of a song. But songs are not always true. Songs can lie. Sansa takes comfort in Jon Snow’s hand and a truth that reigns above everything else.

_Winter is here._

_And so are we._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Now I’m off, going to try and sleep!


End file.
